


Words I Never Said

by lookninjas



Series: The Man Behind the Curtain (Ben!verse) [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Multi, Strained family relationships, even more dream logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt overhears an argument between Blaine's parents, but that's not the worst part.  The worst part is that Blaine hears it too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words I Never Said

**Author's Note:**

> This fic carries on directly from [Something to Cling To](http://lookninjas.livejournal.com/134171.html), and I'm pretty sure there's no way for it to make any sense unless you've read that one. (Also, I don't think this really _answers_ any of the questions that fic might have raised. But I do think it gives some hints. So.)

He's already rolling back over towards Blaine as Mr. Anderson leaves the room, his left arm wrapping around Blaine's waist, forehead pressed against the nape of Blaine's neck. Blaine lets out a contented hum, one hand falling away from the blankets to tug at Kurt's sleeve, and it's adorable, the way Blaine holds on to everything when he's sleeping. It makes Kurt think of babies, the way they're always grabbing, holding on. Because that's what makes the world solid for them; that's how they know that everything is real. They hold on to stuff.

(And also put things in their mouths, but Blaine seems to have grown out of that phase. Well, he chews on his pens a lot, but other than that.)

Out in the hallway, Mr. Anderson is talking to someone; Kurt hears him say "Hello? Mr. Hummel? This is Ben Anderson -- Blaine's dad?" There's something kind of soothing about hearing Mr. Anderson's voice right outside; it makes him feel a little sleepier, a little safer.

He drifts a little, trying to picture what Blaine was like as a baby. Lots of hair, probably. Chubby hands. Blue eyes, because pretty much all babies are born with blue eyes, aren't they? Blue eyes like his father's, and it must have been weird to watch them change. To watch Blaine change and grow and become different. Becoming himself, piece by piece.

But he probably fell asleep just like this, when he was a baby.

Blaine falls asleep easier than anyone Kurt has ever known, able to drop his head down and drift off wherever he is. He doesn't seem to care that someone might see him drooling or hear him snore, and he doesn't worry about waking up with a crease down his face and his hair stuck at a funny angle. And he doesn't seem to ever be afraid that someone will dip his hand in warm water or draw on him with Sharpie or shave off his eyebrows, even if he's passed out in a room full of snickering boys. He just... drops, and trusts that someone will catch him.

Which kind of makes Kurt wonder about how easily Blaine's dad scooped him up and shifted him around and tucked him under the covers, like it was something he did all the time. And it's weird, because Blaine and his father don't even really seem to touch all that often, and honestly, if Kurt didn't already know who Mr. Anderson was, he's pretty sure he'd never make the connection between the two of them. They don't really look that much alike, and they tend to act like polite and distant strangers, and it's not at all the way that Kurt interacts with his own father. But then, the way that Ben Anderson tucked his son into bed was pretty much exactly the way that Burt Hummel would do it, and in that moment, Kurt was absolutely sure. This was Blaine's father. This was his _dad_.

And maybe that's why Blaine falls asleep so easily, why he's so sure that someone will take care of him, tuck him in, catch him when he drops. Because maybe when Mr. Anderson pressed his lips to Blaine's forehead and said "I'm right here," it wasn't the first time he'd said it, but the hundredth.

Maybe more than that, even. Like the thousandth. Or ten-thousandth. How many times do you fall asleep in one lifetime? Lots. Lots and lots. And Blaine's dad has been around since he was a baby, so.

And if he thinks about it, he can even _see_ it, a baby boy with dark curly hair and blue eyes shading into hazel and chubby hands that hold on tightly to whatever they can grasp, tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of a blue pinpoint oxford shirt, and Mr. Anderson kisses his son on the forehead, fondly, and then goes back to talking softly, saying "Of course. No, no, it's no trouble at all. And we'll have him safely back home in the morning."

He pauses, listening intently to someone (someone in another room, maybe, or even another house, someone far away) and then adds, "Oh, of course not. But I do think, with all the studying Blaine's been doing to get past finals, and then Kurt and his trip to New York -- I mean, if it becomes a habit, then yes, of course. But for right now, it's... well. It's understandable."

_Understandable_ , Kurt thinks, and it gets caught in his head somehow, like a fragment of a song from a show he can't name right now -- _Understandable, understandable -- yes, it's perfectly understandable..._ looping there, and there were puppets, maybe? In the song?

And he's trying to remember where he heard it when Mrs. Anderson tiptoes into the conversation, her dark hair pulled back and her face looking like a doll's, and he expects her to reach out for the baby still clasped to Mr. Anderson's chest, but she doesn't. Her arms stay at her sides like they're stuck there, like she doesn't know how to move them.

" -- running late?" she asks, and Kurt missed what she said before, but he doesn't miss the way the baby squirms a little in Mr. Anderson's grasp, the way Blaine shifts in Kurt's hold like his mother's voice is pulling him back from sleep.

"Very," Mr. Anderson says, deadpan, fingers stroking over his son's back. "No, they're both asleep. I don't think they even made it through the end of the movie. Which is surprising, actually, when you consider --"

"Oh," Mrs. Anderson says, arms still glued to her sides and her expression never changing, wide eyes and pursed lips ( _a ventriloquist's dummy_ , Kurt remembers, from the movie they were watching, and why can't he remember what it's called? He loves it, he knows that; he's seen it a million times by now...) "But Kurt's an excellent driver, so I'm sure he'll be --"

"No," Mr. Anderson says, sounding a little surprised, and the baby starts to fuss a little bit, and Kurt kisses the back of Blaine's neck, trying to keep him from waking up. "No, I've told his parents that he's staying here tonight. With us." He hesitates for a second. "That's not a problem, is it? You were all right with Blaine staying there the other night, so I thought --"

"No, of course, it's fine," Mrs. Anderson says, too quickly, and the expression on her face never changes -- frozen, like a doll. The baby presses his face into Mr. Anderson's blue shirt. "I just... well. I'm surprised that you didn't ask me first, that's all."

Blaine shifts again, and Kurt pulls him in closer, nuzzling the back of his neck.

Mr. Anderson's hands spread out protectively against the baby's back, trying to soothe him back to sleep. Kurt tries to keep him in sight, but he's fading away, his voice still clear but the rest of him blurring into the darkness. "Well, like I said, you were the one to say that Blaine could stay the night _there_ , and we both agreed that it was better for him not to drive if he was that exhausted, so --"

"But that was _then_ ," Mrs. Anderson says, sharp and irritated, and Kurt can barely see her now. He's not sure what's happening; he thinks, perhaps, he might be waking up. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and tries to stop it somehow, tries to stay asleep. "This is different. Don't you think so?"

"Not... Not really, no." Mr. Anderson sounds puzzled, but it's difficult to say what he's thinking, because Kurt can no longer see his face. He can't see anything, really. Because he's awake now; he has woken up in Blaine's bedroom with Blaine's parents standing right outside the door, and they're clearly about to fight, and Kurt wishes desperately that he were still asleep. He can only hope that Blaine's luck holds out. "They're fully clothed; they weren't doing anything, so why --"

Kurt can hear Mrs. Anderson's sigh even through the doorway; he feels Blaine stir a little more, his grip on Kurt's sleeve loosening. "It's not _about_ that, Ben," she snaps, and no, Blaine isn't going to sleep through this. Kurt wraps him up more firmly, fumbling in the darkness to find Blaine's hand with his, twining their fingers together.

Blaine grips back, tightly.

"Then what is it about, Miranda?" Mr. Anderson asks, his voice even quieter. "I'm not... I'm not trying to... I just don't understand why this is different."

"Because it's my house," Mrs. Anderson says, her voice high and tight and even a little bit shrill. "And Blaine's _my_ son. And I know that you and he -- I know that it's different, with the two of you, but that doesn't mean you can just make these decisions without me. You need to _ask_ , Ben. And you never, ever ask."

There's a long pause. "I'm sorry," Mr. Anderson says finally. "I didn't realize -- Of course. I thought the situations were more alike than they are, and I --"

"Don't." Mrs. Anderson's voice is still rising, impossibly so, and Blaine is so tense in Kurt's arms that it breaks Kurt's heart. "Don't. I'm _not_ overreacting, Ben."

"I never said you were. I --"

"I'm not overreacting and I'm not wrong, and I know that it's different with the two of you, the way you are with each other, but that doesn't mean that I don't get a say in these things. Because I _do_."

"Of course you do," Mr. Anderson says, and he still sounds so surprised. Surprised and hurt, even. "Did you want to -- I've already called the Hummels, of course, but we can call them back if you'd like, tell them that --"

Mrs. Anderson laughs, and Blaine flinches a little bit; Kurt squeezes his hand. "Yes, of course," she says. "I'm sure they'd love me for that, wouldn't they? Kicking their son out after you've already said he's too tired to drive; I'm sure that would be --"

"Then what do you want to do, Miranda?" Mr. Anderson asks, and for the first time, he's starting to sound a little sharp, a little angry. "I've already apologized, and I'll... I'll consult you the next time this happens, or something _like_ this happens. Clearly, that's not enough, so I'm asking you -- what do you want?"

There's a long silence.

"I'm going to say goodnight to my son now," Mrs. Anderson says, at last. "You can come in if you want to. If you're that worried that I'll throw Kurt out in the cold."

"Miranda --" Mr. Anderson says, and then the door is opening, and light slips into the room, and Kurt thinks that perhaps he should let go of Blaine and pretend that they've been sleeping on opposite sides of the bed, but Blaine's got a death grip on his hand, so Kurt stays where he is and just tries to hold still.

It's difficult -- he's so aware of Blaine's parents standing in the doorway, watching. But he doesn't let go. In fact, he presses his face a little more firmly to the back of Blaine's neck, holds him a little tighter.

"You don't understand, Ben," Mrs. Anderson says, finally. "You don't understand because it's always been different for you. From the very beginning."

Blaine takes a deep breath, and Kurt strokes a thumb over his knuckles, hoping that the gesture is too small to be seen.

"Miranda," Mr. Anderson says again. "That's not --"

"Yes it is," she says. "It is true. And it's not like I haven't tried. I have. I've _tried_ , Ben. But it's not the same. I just don't know how to --"

"But you're still his mother," Mr. Anderson murmurs. "You always will be."

The silence that follows is almost worse than a denial.

"Like I said," Mrs. Anderson whispers, chasing her words with a bitter laugh that makes Blaine tense up. "You don't understand." There's a moment's pause, and Kurt feels like everyone is holding their breath (he knows he is), and then he hears footsteps in the carpet, the rustling of Mrs. Anderson's clothing as she leaves the room.

It's silent for a few seconds, and then Mr. Anderson approaches the bed, so much quieter than his wife. Kurt doesn't open his eyes, but he can feel the little bit of movement suggesting that Mr. Anderson's hand is hovering just over his son's shoulder, not quite touching. "She doesn't mean it," Mr. Anderson whispers, and Kurt's not sure if he's speaking to Blaine or to himself. "She just... she doesn't mean it." And then he, too, is leaving the room.

Blaine gives a single, convulsive shudder when the door closes behind his father, and Kurt cuddles in, kissing the back of his neck and stroking over his knuckles and trying to somehow give some kind of reassurance. There's no pretending that he slept through that, and so he doesn't bother; he pulls Blaine close and whispers "I'm here, Blaine. I'm right here," into his shoulder blades, because that's what Blaine's dad said and Kurt thinks that it's probably what Blaine needs to hear.

"He always says that," Blaine says, softly, into the darkness. His voice sounds oddly hoarse and strained. "That she doesn't mean it. He always, always says that."

"Blaine," Kurt murmurs.

Blaine shudders again. "Can we just -- I can't talk about it, Kurt. Maybe later, but right now I just... I _can't_."

Kurt nuzzles the back of Blaine's neck and breathes him in. "Just... Just come here, then," he says, and eases his grip a little, just enough to let Blaine roll over and curl against his chest, hands fisting tight in the fabric of Kurt's sweater. And Kurt spreads his hands against Blaine's back and kisses his forehead, and says it over and over again. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Blaine presses close against him, his breath ragged, little choked sounds escaping from time to time, and all Kurt can do is hold on.

It's a long time before he manages to fall asleep again, and when he does, his dreams are haunted by the sound of a baby crying somewhere in the dark.

 

*

 

The morning is a little awkward.

Kurt wakes up with Blaine still clinging to his sweater, and it's adorable, the way he holds on, the way his hair is coming free of its gel and his eyelashes are thick and dark against his cheek, mouth hanging open just a little bit. It's adorable, the way he frowns as Kurt pulls back just to look at him, the way he mutters under his breath and tries to pull Kurt back in. It's adorable to watch his eyes finally flutter open, to watch him stare intently at Kurt's chest for a few moments as if he's trying to figure out what it is, then finally push himself high enough on the bed that he can look at Kurt's face and recognize him, give him a faint, dreamy smile.

It's adorable right up until the moment it's not, until Blaine looks awkward and turns away, and Kurt remembers a conversation that he really shouldn't have heard: _You're still his mother,_ and _You don't understand,_ and _She doesn't mean it._ And before he can figure out what to do about it, Blaine is up and heading for the closet.

"I'll just... I'll find you something. So you don't have to wear the same outfit twice in a row," Blaine mumbles, and Kurt slides out of the bed, but doesn't head towards him.

"I'm not going to ask," he says, quietly. "If you don't want to talk, Blaine, we'll wait. It's okay."

Blaine's shoulders slump a little bit, his head bowing. He doesn't turn around. "I don't even really know what they're fighting about," he admits, quietly. "It's one of those things -- I mean, they never _talk_ about it, really, and I hear bits and pieces but I don't --" He sighs and Kurt pushes off the bed, taking a few steps toward him. "So I don't actually know what's going on. And I can't --" He finally glances over his shoulder at Kurt. "And then we'll go downstairs and it'll be like none of it ever happened. They won't say anything about it, and if I asked, they'd --" He shakes his head. "When I was younger, I used to actually think I was dreaming the whole thing. That they never fought at all, and I just -- I just dreamed it all. But I didn't."

Kurt takes the last few steps necessary to press himself along Blaine's back, wrap his arms around him and rest his chin in the crook of Blaine's shoulder. Blaine sags back against him, his hair brushing against the side of Kurt's neck, and Kurt takes his weight on gratefully, glad to be able to help with _something_.

"You know the really dumb thing?" Blaine asks, after a few seconds. "She never says no to me. Not for anything. So... I mean, I don't know why she would pick a fight about you sleeping here. Because she would have done the same thing if it had been her, so... I mean, Dad's the only one to ever say no to anything. She just kind of... she just lets me do what I want to. So I don't know why she was so mad."

There's nothing Kurt can say to that, so he concentrates on holding Blaine up and breathing him in and just sort of... being there, for him. He's not sure if it's doing that much at first, but then Blaine's hands settle against Kurt's wrists, and he sort of relaxes a little more, lets Kurt take on more of his weight, and Kurt thinks that's probably a good sign. He nuzzles the side of Blaine's face, kissing his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. When he feels Blaine smile against his skin, he lets his head drop back down to Blaine's shoulder, shifts his hold a little bit and sighs, content.

"Your hair," Blaine says, laughing a little. "Honestly, Kurt, you are going to --"

Whatever else he was going to say is cut off by a knock at the door, and Kurt lets his arms slip from around Blaine's waist, sidestepping away from him as the door pushes open. "Boys?" Mrs. Anderson asks, and Kurt almost flinches, but covers it up, looking at her with what he hopes is nothing but innocent curiosity. Her dark hair is pulled back, and her eyes are flat and emotionless. Like a doll's. "Are you -- Oh. There you are." She smiles when her eyes finally settle on them, but it feels fake somehow.

Blaine looks over at his mother, and his face is so unhappy, but she doesn't seem to notice at all; she just keeps smiling. "I'm trying to find something for Kurt to wear," he says, quickly. "Since he -- I mean, you've already seen him in that sweater, so --" He lets out a little nervous laugh, and then ducks his head, staring intently at a pair of shoes in the bottom of his closet.

"Well, hurry up and get changed, dear," Mrs. Anderson says, patting Kurt on the shoulder as she slips past, leaning in to drop a kiss on Blaine's cheek. Her fingers briefly touch at Blaine's hair, and she sighs. "Ugh, honestly, that _hair_ \-- Anyway, I've got to get to my pottery class, but your father's making breakfast, Blaine. So if you could head down and keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't burn down the kitchen? You know how he is."

"We'll be down in a little bit," Blaine says, quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt can see Blaine take a deep breath, his shoulders sinking as he exhales, turns to look over his shoulder at his mother. "Mom?" He sounds so young, then, so vulnerable. "I love you."

Mrs. Anderson stills for a moment, freezing in place. Then she turns and smiles over her shoulder. "You're such a darling, Blaine," she says, with her eyes still flat and emotionless. She blows him a kiss and then breezes out of the room.

Kurt's hand is reaching out for Blaine's before the door even closes, holding on tightly. " _I_ love you," he says, a little defiant, and it's worth it when Blaine's wet, shining eyes turn to focus on his.

"I love you too," Blaine says, and squeezes his hand. They look at each other for a long time, silent, and Kurt knows this is another of those things that Blaine's not ready to talk about, so he doesn't push. "And she doesn't mean it, about Dad burning the house down. He's actually a really good cook."

"Good," Kurt says, because he doesn't really know what else to say. He starts flicking through a row of cardigans, looking for something to borrow (even if he doesn't really care about wearing last night's clothes and both of them know it). "I take it I'm staying for breakfast?"

"Stay as long as you want," Blaine whispers, and Kurt smiles and squeezes his hand again.

They rummage through the closet together, and neither of them says anything, but they don't let go of each other.

 

*

 

When they do finally head down to breakfast, still hand-in-hand, Blaine leaves Kurt at the table and keeps walking towards the stove, to where Mr. Anderson is quietly transferring pancakes from the griddle to a large platter, already heaping full. Blaine waits for his father to put the platter back in the oven and close it, waits for him to straighten up, and then leans in and kisses his father on the cheek.

Mr. Anderson stares at him, and Kurt's pretty sure the man is blushing. "Now," he says, sounding bemused. "What was that for?"

"Because," Blaine says, simply. "You're my dad."

Mr. Anderson blinks back at him. "Of course I am," he says. "Who else would I be?"

Blaine doesn't answer; he turns back to the table, sitting down next to Kurt, and Mr. Anderson stares at him for a few seconds (smiling, Kurt notices -- it's just a little smile, but he's smiling), before going back to his cooking.

Blaine and Kurt hold hands under the table all through breakfast.

And there's no way Mr. Anderson doesn't notice, but he doesn't say a single word about it. He does smile at them, though, once or twice, and his smile kind of speaks for itself.


End file.
